


Hotline

by Get_below_my_line_of_vision



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Depression, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23720002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Get_below_my_line_of_vision/pseuds/Get_below_my_line_of_vision
Summary: Grantaire is developing suicidal thoughts, and in intense fear, calls the suicide hotline only to immediately hang up. Panicking, he goes out on his balcony and accidentally initiates a conversation with his neighbour, Enjolras.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Kudos: 38





	Hotline

**Author's Note:**

> There are suicidal thoughts in Grantaire's point of view. 
> 
> I wanted to write this after thinking about a short film I watched which can be found on YouTube by Omeleto about suicide hotline.

As soon as Grantaire opened up the curtains, a warm blanket of sunlight spread through the room. The sun blared and those who walked outside in the busy streets were wearing exposing clothes, carrying fans, wearing hats to cool themselves. Grantaire trudded tiredly to his bed. Sometimes that was all he did for the day. After he opened his eyes, he would slowly close it again. No, he wasn’t tired- not in a way where he would groan ‘five more minutes’, but in some ways he was tired. Days were full of meaningless tasks and of blandness. He wasn’t sad. Rather, just… empty. His body didn’t feel like his anymore.  
So he lay down on his bed and closed his eyes. He couldn’t remember the date anymore. Was it Sunday? Maybe Monday? He sighed loudly since he didn’t have enough energy to scream in anger and frustration. He has been locked in, his room like a prison, with his laziness like the prison guards.

His stomach growled. He remembered he did the same thing yesterday- he woke up, stayed in bed, with nothing in between. He didn’t eat, talk, or experience life. He was completely unproductive- so useless.  
He felt as if he was floating as he squeezed into his small kitchen. When he opened up the fridge there were nothing but loose vegetables. They were almost rotten and definitely smelled unappetising. Since it has been weeks since he had tasted anything, he grabbed the carrots lying around anyway. Despite there being a handful of carrots on the shelf, they were spread out like they were allergic to themselves.

He pulled out the chopping board and grabbed for the knife- he couldn’t find it. He searched the drawers, the cabinets- then he remembered.  
He travelled back to his bed and lifted his pillow. There, two knives lay. He quickly grabbed one as if they would bite like a live animal. Grantaire stared at the knife and saw his own reflection. He ran his eyes down to his wrist and discovered horizontal cuts- they weren’t deep but he could remember the pain- the emotional panic he felt. Panicking, he dropped the knife which thankfully stuck to the ground and not his feet. He felt dizzy and the air felt painful to breathe. Feeling suffocated, he blamed his hunger. His legs must have been weak because he hasn't eaten for a long time. He stumbled to another knife- the clean one.  
He then stumbled back into his kitchen and cut the carrots. Then he remembered he was supposed to peel them. Then he chuckled to himself, imagining peeling his hand. Would his skin peel off? What would it look like? He laughed lowly in thought.  
One by one he threw the pieces of carrots in his mouth. He thought about choking on them. He would collapse on the floor, looking at the window, desperate for help- trying to shout, but not being able to. 

Then he snapped out of it. Of many times he had imagined his path to death, he imagined calling for help. The man in his brain wanted to live. Somehow, him in real life didn’t want to.  
He began to cry. He hardly did this. And when he usually begins crying he doesn’t know when he stops exactly. He usually enters sleep in tears and wakes up in them.

He viewed himself and mangled. Twisted. Broken pieces smashed together that are slowly falling apart.

He quickly grabbed his phone and dialled a number he had seen so many times but never dialled in full. He had dialled three numbers at most before. But he never made past it. Although he fantasisd about death, he never thought he was depressed… If he were to call he would be seen as a baggage- a nuance. But this time, he had enough. He dialled the six, simple numbers. 

“Suicide hotline, how can I help you?”  
Grantaire immediately ended the call. He slowed his breathing and practised speaking. His voice was trembling and he didn’t feel that was the correct way to present himself. He paced around his tiny room. He began talking, imagining what the voice would say. He tried to summarise his thoughts- his emotions. “Hi, I- I- I’m sad- I’m depre… I don’t feel… I’m too tired.” Every word was tiresome to push out.  
He looked out to the sun and stepped onto the balcony. He continued, siffling, “I’m not well. I don’t think I am. I sometimes imagine myself lying on the floor, bleeding out, or choking, or suffocating. Sometimes I reach for help to no avail. That’s pretty realistic.” He laughed to himself.  
“I would.” A person said in the balcony next to him. “I would… help… you.” The man seemed to be surprised by his own words.  
Grantaire was embarrassed to the core and wanted to hide. So he avoided looking at the source of the voice.  
“I’m… your neighbour.” The man awkwardly spoke.  
“Yeah,” Grantaire nodded, “I guessed so.” Wanting to avoid silence, he asked, “You new here?”  
“No. No, I’ve been living here. For a couple of months actually.”  
“Oh. I don’t go out much…”  
“I know.”  
Finally, Grantaire turned to see the man. At first he thought the man was the sun and that he was crazy. Then his eyes adjusted and he saw the most handsome man. This might have been because he never focused on how different people look; he never focused on their facial features, their stance, their body language: at least not when they are trying to communicate with him. But the man in front of him was staring at him, with a smile, open. And he was the most beautiful man he ever laid his eyes on because of it.  
“I’m Enjolras.”  
“Grantaire.” While he was observing the man, his eyes drifted down down to his hand. The man was holding a phone.  
The man followed his eyes and understood what he was thinking, “I’m on hold. Can you hear the music?”  
Grantaire slowly shook his head.  
“Do you want to hear?” He chuckled.  
He smiled slightly.  
“Yeah… Strange question.” He shook his head, looking at his feet.

“Who’s on the other side? Girlfriend? Work?”  
Enjolras smiled, somehow appearing even more charming. “Suicide hotline.”  
Grantaire dropped his smile; his eyes widened. He began fumbling. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I-”  
“You’re better than the hotline.”  
“I am?”  
“Yeah, by far. These fuckers put me on hold. They’re too busy, they said.” He chuckled.  
Grantaire stared at the seemingly cheerful man. “Hey, how do you feel?”  
Enjolras didn’t blink. “Grey. I know that’s a colour, but I feel like whenever… something shines, like the sun, I’m not affected by it. Maybe I’m black- absence of colour. But then that sounds like a racial thing.” He chuckled quietly. “I feel like I’m making no sense. What I mean is I feel alone. No matter who’s around me. I feel… unimportant.” He jolted for a second and pressed his phone against his ear, but it was just an illusion he felt. There was no one on the other side.  
Grantaire smiled, “The music must be good. You’re listening to it so intently.”  
Enjolras smiled, shrugging, “It is pretty damn good. It’s in a loop as well.”  
“Oh wow.” He sarcastically said.  
“Yeah.” He thought for a while, “Do you want to hear it?”  
“Um, sure.” He walked towards Enjolras and reached out his hand- to grab the phone.  
Instead he held his hand. “You want to cross over the dangerous way, Grantaire?”  
“What?” Then he realised he was holding his hand for balance in case Grantaire was to hop over to his balcony. Looking down, he didn’t necessarily feel the urge to fall- mainly because they’re not high enough and it would be awkward for Enjolras. But just in case… “I’m afraid of heights, actually. I’ll go around the safe way.”  
“Oh, so you just wanted to hold my hand.” He let go.  
Grantaire laughed and entered back into his room.

As he felt the temperature change, he felt his emotions wash away. He had thoughts that Enjolras was mocking him. He considered falling asleep, like he usually does. That way he knows the outcome for sure. “N-No.” He fought himself. His eyes widened. Words were painful to push out. Like the beginning of the day. Then he realised having the normal outcome would mean he would still feel lonely and unwanted.  
Grantaire breathed deeply and walked out the door.

He stared at the number on the door. He rechecked that he was in front of the right door. He lifted his hand to open the door only to have it open itself. He came face to face with Enjolras. Their faces were too close but neither of them moved. “You… took long so I wanted to check.” Enjolras muttered.  
“Uh-huh. Understandable.” He took a step back, feeling like he was suffocating Enjolras. He put his hand out to hold the phone.  
Again, Enjolras took a hold of his hand and guided him into his place.

As they entered Grantaire couldn’t hear even the faintest sound from his phone.

**Author's Note:**

> The last line was me trying to explain how Enjolras hung up but I'm bad at writing.  
> And they're just gonna talk inside- that's why Enjolras is leading him in. He just needs someone to hold.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
